It’s been so long since there’s been a band in Rexall Place that didn’t use pre-recorded backing tracks like some glorified karaoke performers, that we’ve almost forgotten what the real deal sounds like.

Red Hot Chili Peppers are the real deal. They’re huge heroes just for playing their own instruments. Sad, isn’t it?

You could say this venerable Los Angeles band went “old school” for the first of two shows Wednesday night, never mind the dazzling visual effects, floating television screens and such. The main attraction was the musicians, Anthony Kiedis and Flea were both shirtless, one of their pant legs cut off to display gym socks – perhaps a sartorial nod to a time when they placed socks upon their male members (and no one wants to see that from 50-year-old men, so thanks for that).

In any case, they performed like guys half their age, leaping, skipping, twirling, head-banging their way around the stage, jamming with abandon, going more for feel and emotion and passion than studio perfection. With them was Chad Smith solid on drums (no click track evident), and the new guitarist Josh Klinghoffer admirably filling John Frusciante’s big shoes. A percussionist and keyboard player rounded out the sound. All live, nothing canned.

Together, they played it raw, a bit sloppy, didn’t sweat tempos or perfect vocals – although Kiedis, no Pavarotti, sang pretty well compared to previous appearances - as they laid out a night rich in the funky, punky music they’ve spent almost four decades perfecting. Jesus, has it been that long? It sure has. Odd how they still come off like a bunch of California skateboard punks.

They opened with a song from their new album, I’m With You, which got liberal time Wednesday night, before digging back to pungently Angelino anthems like Around the World and Scar Tissue, the sad and slow Californication, the quiet-to-noisy By the Way, from funky raps to straight ahead punk rock-style, even into a bit of laid-back George Benson-ness in songs like Hey. It’s odd too, how many different styles the Chilis can draw from and still sound like the same band.

Between the songs proper, Flea and Klinghoffer would often commune for a little freestyle riffing, stuff verging on cacophony that couldn’t possibly be pre-recorded or pre-planned. The crowd certainly didn’t mind. The biggest cheers came from the unexpected moments – like a guest spot from the trumpet player of the opening Rebirth Brass Band on a calypso-Latin number. Or Flea walking on his hands. Or Smith flying on wires above his kit. They may look like 50-year-old men, but they don’t move like them.

Much later came the encore, with the (expected) performance of the funk-rock anthem Give It Away – followed by another free flowing jam that accelerated into chaos. Cue a shrieking Flea speech: “Support all live music! It’s the force of the people!” General agreement was heard from the crowd of 14,000.

There aren’t many bands like this. All these years and passing trends later, the Chilis are still considered “alternative.” They know it, and their fans know it, the audience cutting a surprisingly wide demographic swath, from 40-something Gen-Xers to people who weren’t even born when the band started. Flea, who did all the talking, seemed to know this, very politely saying at one point early on, “I hope everyone gets to go home and f--- like an animal tonight!” – pause for effect – “or at least read bedtime stories.”

Way to know your target audience, dude. It’s a wide target.

Not just any ordinary opening band would do for this show. The Rebirth Brass Band set the stage with a riotous take on the traditional New Orleans street band: Tuba, twin trombones, saxophone, trumpet, snare drummer, bass drummer, the works. All that was missing was subtlety. But who cares? It was very interesting in small doses, a funky, high-energy blast of glorious honking, tooting, blatting, blowing their brains out the entire time – lots of fun and definitely something you don’t see every day. At least not around here.